


Storm

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 03:46:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11660976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Gandalf doesn’t appreciate Radagast’s heroics.





	Storm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Solarfox123](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solarfox123/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for auniverseforgotten’s “Gandalf/Radagast with number 6 (anger)” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/) [from this list](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/163120603835/prompt-list-4).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, or The Silmarillion or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Once, fear was a rare thing for him, though he came to these shores with a purpose clear and hard, one that’s long faded under the weight of so many other things to do. Most of them are difficult, frustrating, requiring long patience and great understanding, but Gandalf doesn’t truly _fear_ them—it’s an unproductive, silly notion that came only when he drew into this form. Yet he feels a stab of it under the blazing fires of his greatest rival, not for himself, but for the wizened figure that darts right through the flames.

Gandalf has no time to chase afterwards, though he’s desperate to—so many others need him, and that outweighs everything. He stays in the small clearing before the charred trees and focuses everything he has to bring down the pouring rain, to have the wind sweep back against it, though it battles forward just as fiercely. A normal fire would subside, crushed beneath the weight of a Maia’s might. But these are no _normal_ flames, and they rally against him, wanting to consume everything that lies within their path. 

And Gandalf, filled with fury at having to feel _fear_ , roars and drives them back again. His staff held high above his head, he summons every strength he’s ever known, until the embers are wavering before him, and the red and orange glow snuff out into black-silver ashes. 

Even then, Gandalf’s wind sweeps through it, and the rage stirs deeper in him. He shouldn’t have to do this. It’s been too long for such nonsense. And he certainly shouldn’t have to do it _alone_. These lands are too weak to suffer such wars. Only when he’s sure the danger’s gone, when the downpour has thoroughly drenched every last flicker of fire and soaks it all still, does Gandalf lower his staff. He sucks in a deep, ragged breath, filled with smoke and rain, and then he hobbles forward.

It isn’t a long path to what he’s looking for, though it’s not easy to find—between the darkness of the night sky, the falling water, and the blackened stumps and trees, everything is obscured. The burning stench is no help. Gandalf mostly follows the tug of his heart, something always set to this one destination, until he finally finds a huddled brown mass amidst the fallen logs. 

Radagast unfurls like one of his hedgehogs, revealing the whites and greys of his matted hair beneath his mahogany hat. He looks up at Gandalf with wide, sunken eyes, his arms clutched tight around a rabbit in his lap.

A rabbit. A single, solitary animal, barely bigger than Radagast’s hand, pure black and breathing hard with fright, long ears flat against its fur. Radagast holds it tenderly, protectively, and irritation overcomes Gandalf’s exhaustion, expending in a growled, “Whatever did you do _that_ for?” Radagast just opens his mouth, likely to say a hundred excuses Gandalf’s heard before, so he huffs over it all, “Running back in like that, into _his_ flames—you could’ve been killed! Yes, _killed_ Radagast, and you know it! You are not so untouchable!”

Radagast winces, and the rabbit’s nose twitches, its face turning to bury into Radagast’s stomach as though to comfort him. Radagast hastily pets it, though his eyes are glued on Gandalf’s, and he mutters, “Yes, yes, I know, but—”

“ _Do_ you?” Gandalf seethes. “Do you really understand that these lands still _need_ as many of us as are left, more so than one stray forest critter?” Radagast opens his mouth again, suddenly indignant, but Gandalf booms, “Do not speak to me of the importance of little lives! I have spent nearly an Age concerning myself with them, but never would I deprive all the others of my protection over one futile loss! They need us yet, Radagast! _All_ of them will need us, and all too soon!”

And there is the other thing, the one that hardly matters in the grand scheme of their mission—that _Gandalf_ needs Radagast, his company, his aid. Someone left to go to when times are too trying for even him, and none else could understand. If he’d lost Radagast in this fire, his wrath might’ve spurred him right to Mordor.

And he would’ve perished just as swiftly, swallowed up in Mairon’s malice by his own foolishness. He has no intention of falling so easily. And he has even less intention of letting the one partner he has left depart from this plane. 

For a long moment, Radagast is quiet, and Gandalf thinks he might actually understand, thinks the slump of his shoulders might mean defeat, and there might be an apology in his eyes. When he opens his arms enough to allow it, the rabbit squirms free of his grasp and leaps onto the ravaged earth, bounding hurriedly towards clearer air. 

Radagast makes a particularly sorry-looking creature when he’s sitting alone in his muddy puddle, the rain flattening his hat all around him and his clothes plastered against his aging body. It does make it difficult to remain angry with him. And slowly, Gandalf’s fury seeps aside, washed clean with the rest of the woods around them. 

He sighs and finally reaches out a gnarled hand, one Radagast grasps instantly, tightly, but soft still as the first time they touched in these new bodies. There’s a shiver of _warmth_ that always comes with it, and Gandalf reminds himself that he _hasn’t_ lost that, that Radagast’s come through again, and they still exist together in this world.

He helps Radagast up, and Radagast stumbles to stand, clutching now at Gandalf’s arms. He looks like he wants to say more but doesn’t have the words, and his eyes seem to say _I’m sorry_ for him.

Ultimately he asks, quiet and broken, “Would you like a cup of tea?”

So Gandalf nods and follows him home, because there’s nothing else to do now but embrace it.


End file.
